


The Shame in Your Defeat

by tomato_greens



Series: Listen, Listen - music ficlets [17]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:48:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomato_greens/pseuds/tomato_greens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fight bloody-handed and raw only once: eight months after Cuba, tempers running high, the helmet bodily thrown across the room, Raven ("<i>Mystique</i>," Erik insists, and Charles grits his teeth) nowhere to be seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shame in Your Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Written to [The Cave](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6rYPHmSzcE&feature=related) by Mumford & Sons.

They fight bloody-handed and raw only once: eight months after Cuba, tempers running high, the helmet bodily thrown across the room, Raven (" _Mystique_ ," Erik insists, and Charles grits his teeth) nowhere to be seen. Charles keeps forgetting he can't always rely on his lower back muscles the way he used to and he can feel Erik thinking his own heart's been burnt out, but that doesn't stop them from grappling on the floor like children––Erik resting a knee between Charles's ribs, Charles clawing at Erik's shoulders, a mockery of the last time they'd fucked, raggedly vulnerable and _so in love_ ––until Charles's knee spasms and he gasps in anticipated pain.

"What was that?" Erik asks, pausing, his arms framing Charles's face.

"That," Charles says acerbically, massaging his knee with one hand and trying to maneuver out from Erik with the other, "is that." 

"Were you always this obnoxious or had I merely blinded myself to your charms?" Erik asks, rolling his eyes, beckoning to Charles's wheelchair with two fingers; Charles has to stop himself from leaning into the gesture with a sigh.

"I think you'll find my charms far outstrip my faults," he says instead, loftily, positioning his hands on the wheelchair's armrests; he avoids pulling himself into it from the ground, usually, as it has a tendency to overbalance, but he trusts Erik to hold it steady for him.

"Outstrip?" Erik asks, and the moment's broken: he sniggers, his face transformed as it so rarely is, as he does his level best to help Charles back into the chair, and though his best frankly leaves something to be desired as far as Charles's ass's comfort is concerned, Charles is––glad. 

"Really," Charles says, sitting up straight––a pose he's been practicing, the professor, dignified, adult. 

"Now that's not you at all," Erik says, eyebrows raised. "You look a saint."

"Who's to say I'm not?" Charles says, laughing, coy.

"Well, me, for one," Erik points out, his hand on Charles's neck.

"Are you staying, then?" Charles asks.

**Author's Note:**

> This tiny dribble of a fanfic is to get started again, so apologies for the brevity and (lack of) quality.


End file.
